The Return of Kaelen Viremont

Chapter 4: The Gifted Sword

Aurelia Duskryn’s eyes shimmered with an otherworldly light. Her fair, porcelain face seemed almost translucent—so pure, so innocent.

But at that moment, a chilling glint danced in her gaze. The Second Young Miss radiated a cold malice that could freeze blood. Everyone around her felt it—dread in its purest form.

She looked down at Elira, who knelt trembling before her, pleading for his life. Her red lips parted slightly as she spoke:

“Drokhan Stonefist, tear this worthless trash apart and feed him to my Unicorn Demon Horse.”

“Yes.”

The reply came from the armored man beside her. Cold, mechanical—devoid of emotion.

“No, please! Second Young Miss, I beg you—ahhh!!”

Elira’s screams were cut short. Drokhan twisted his neck with a sickening snap, lifting the limp body as if it weighed nothing at all.

He was a mountain of steel, head to toe clad in black armor, a killing machine without mercy or expression.

Aurelia sneered, her voice laced with mockery.

“Kaelen... oh, Kaelen. Who would've thought? An orphan we took in suddenly steps into the True Martial Realm and becomes a cultivator. But you’re naive—foolish, even. A servant like you... thinking you can rise above your station?”

Her elegant eyes narrowed with contempt.

“Drokhan, take a few men. Find him. Cripple his da and bring him back. I’ll teach him what it means to be born beneath the heavens and yet reach for the stars.”

“As you command, Second Miss.”

Drokhan bowed, turned, and marched away—his steps heavy and final.

“A servant will always be a servant,” Aurelia said coldly. “He will never stand equal to those of noble blood.”

With that, she reclined lazily on a garden swing and closed her eyes, awaiting the inevitable.

She had no doubt. Drokhan was one of the death guards trained by her peerless elder sister—his strength terrifying, his success certain.

But when Drokhan, radiating lethal intent, arrived at Kaelen’s quarters...

He found nothing. The room was empty. No one knew where Kaelen Viremont had gone.

He returned, empty-handed, and knelt before the Second Miss.

“He escaped.”

“Escaped?”

Aurelia Duskryn sprang up, fury flashing in her eyes.

“That little dog dares flee? Call the family guards! Search every corner. He’s only at the first layer of the True Martial Realm—how far can he get?”

But Kaelen hadn’t fled.

He stood tall before the Martial Tower, the grand nine-story structure at the very heart of the House Hanwynn estate.

Around the tower, a bustling inner marketplace thrived—reserved for clan members. Newly awakened cultivators were granted a one-time reward: a free weapon and a basic martial technique.

It was an incentive, a tradition—to inspire the young to walk the path of martial cultivation.

Kaelen remained in the clan not from fear, but for this moment.

He had considered becoming a rogue cultivator, wandering the world.

But he was far from strong enough. Outside the clan’s protection lay a cruel world filled with danger—roaming warriors, murderous sects, and savage beasts.

Having lived two lives, Kaelen's heart was calm. Steady.

Now, he walked through the vibrant marketplace surrounding the tower, a river of people flowing around him.

The House Hanwynn was powerful—one of Thornreach County’s most respected families. Even though this market served only internal affairs, it bustled like a city square.

As he moved among the crowds, Kaelen felt something shift within. He was merging with this new life—becoming one with the identity fate had given him.

In his past life, he had been the son of the Divine Emperor, cursed with a weak body, trapped within palace walls. His world had been stone, shadows, and silence.

But this life was different.

Now, he had the right to cultivate.

This time... he would cross rivers, scale mountains, and see the world with his own eyes.

He stepped up to the counter at the market’s front.

All he had to do was present his identification token to receive his rewards.

But as he approached, Kaelen paused.

Behind the counter stood the eccentric old man from the ancestral hall—the one who had tested him the day before.

Dressed in plain robes, the elder smiled with wrinkled amusement.

“Kaelen, boy. We meet again.”

Kaelen’s expression didn’t change. He took a slight step back.

“Senior. I’ve come to claim my weapon and martial technique.”

Weapons and martial arts could make all the difference to a cultivator’s power.

In his previous life, trapped in the Divine Creation Dynasty, Kaelen had dreamed of such stories—heroes wielding blades, roaring into battle, slaying beasts beneath the sky.

He had always admired the sword cultivators—their elegance, their freedom.

“Kill in ten steps, travel a thousand miles without pause.

When the deed is done, brush off the dust, and conceal both fame and merit…”

Kaelen murmured the ancient lines softly.

Then he said:

“I want a sword. And a sword technique.”

The old man’s eyes lit up.

“Boy, you speak right to my heart! I’ll gift you a sword myself!”

Kaelen’s eyes gleamed. This man was no ordinary clerk.

What kind of weapon would he receive?

The elder pulled out a case. Inside, a long sword rested, its aura faintly humming.

“Take it,” he said. “And wield it well.”

Kaelen accepted the case with reverence.

In the martial world, everything—techniques, weapons—was graded by power:

Mortal Grade, Yellow, Profound, Earth, Heaven, King, Emperor, Venerable, Saint, and Divine.

In Thornreach County—indeed, across the Great Cindralis Dynasty —anything above Heaven Grade was a national treasure.

And beyond that? King, Emperor, and Saint Grade weapons were myths. Legends across the Velarion Continent.

Now Kaelen stood at the starting line... but with a spark in his hand and fire in his soul.

His journey had truly begun.